


An Important Tradition

by Canon_Is_Relative



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Original Trilogy
Genre: F/M, Family, Fluff, Kissing, Post-Movie(s), Romantic Fluff, Traditions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-10
Updated: 2016-03-10
Packaged: 2018-05-25 23:45:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 784
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6214948
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Canon_Is_Relative/pseuds/Canon_Is_Relative
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <a href="http://comment-fic.livejournal.com/697718.html?thread=91983990#t91983990">Commentfic for the prompt: Star Wars, Han Solo/Leia Organa, A 'glad you didn't die' makeout.</a>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	An Important Tradition

**Author's Note:**

> In my head this takes place when the family is reunited after [The Crystal Star](http://starwars.wikia.com/wiki/The_Crystal_Star%E2%80%9D) (so 10 years after the battle of Endor) but that doesn’t really matter :)

“Ewww!” Jaina squeals, peeking through her fingers and scrunching up her face when she sees that her parents are still kissing in the corridor. 

“Shut up, dummy!” Jacen elbows her.

“You shut up, nerf herder!” Her stupid twin got all gushy whenever Mama and Papa got all gushy and it was seriously _gross._

“You both shut up,” little Anakin says from where he’s sprawled on the floor, arranging the pieces from Jaina’s electronics kit into some pattern that makes no sense to anyone but him. Sometimes he talks like _he_ is the big brother and Jacen and Jaina are the babies who can barely read or write yet. “It’s a ‘portant tradiction for them.”

“Tra _di_ tion,” Jacen corrects him, and goes over to the controls to shut the door between the corridor and the hold.

—

It started on Tattooine, Han told her once. She knew what he meant and didn’t bother pretending she didn’t. He’d been wearing that look he got when they were talking about the time they all spent on her brother’s home planet, that look of his that gives the lie to the cocky mask he wears most of the time that says he still can’t quite believe they came back for him. Risked so much for him. By the time he brings it up, she knows better than to make a big deal of it, so she counters. She takes his point, but she sticks to her own: It wasn’t Tattooine, she says, it was Endor.

On Endor, after her friends had nearly been roasted alive for the glory and honor of C3PO, she’d rushed into his arms and he’d gathered her up, and relief — his — had flooded her. What she hadn’t yet known to call her Force-sense had been awash with his relief, with his grateful not-prayers-because-he-didn’t-pray that she was alive. She’d leapt onto a speeder and left him behind without a backwards glance; he’d seen the wrecked speeder, found her helmet, feared the worst; then she’d watched, helpless, as he was carried to the fire. 

Back then, she’d felt herself to be split, torn between these two wonderful men; the one who would become her brother, the other her husband. She could have run to Luke, when his bonds were cut, but she didn’t. Something in Han had called to something in her and she’d answered without conscious thought. And they’d been calling and responding in harmony for ten long years now, the tune changing but the words everlasting.

_Thanks for not dying on me. Thanks for waiting for me. Glad to know you believe in me. Glad to have a reason to. I love you. I know._

—

Maybe it was being brought up on some fancy Core world, but the Princess _loves_ her traditions. He’s never asked because he doesn’t have to, but that ridiculous medal ceremony on Yavin 4 back in the day? All her idea. 

So really, it doesn’t matter whether Han’s on board with it or not, because what Her Worshipfullness says, goes, and while no one is the boss of Han Solo it’s not like he exactly minds bending his knee now and then to some whim of hers if it’ll make her smile brighter than those damn suns her brother grew up under.

If she even thinks the whole thing was his idea to start with, well, she also says she likes nice men, so who is she fooling?

She might even have a point about Endor, he thinks, running his hands through her hair. That had been the first time he’d seen her with her hair down, like it is now. 

Soft sounds, those unselfconscious childish noises that he’d missed every second of every day he’d been gone, finally work their way past the pounding of blood and adrenaline and he looks up, over Leia’s shoulder, to see their daughter scowling at them and their older son gifting them with that idyllic smile that makes him look so much like the guileless young pilot Han met on Tattooine all those years ago that it catches Han’s breath in his chest. He presses a kiss to his wife’s forehead and winks at Jacen, whose smile only grows as he reaches out to slide the door shut.

Leia wraps her hand around the back of his neck, pulls him down and captures his lips again.

“Nice of you, your highness,” he finally murmurs, twisting a lock of her hair around his finger and pulling back to look her in the eye. “Risking your royal neck to come after me, I mean. I appreciate that.”

She snorts and butts her head softly against his jaw, wraps her arms around his waist. “I know.”


End file.
